Silent - Part 17: Agnes

Two Years Earlier, Lucy:

She'd heard the news about Agnes Harlesden. From what she'd picked up, Agnes had returned unannounced, taking the rest of the staff by surprise.

But she alone knew the real reason for Agnes Harlesden's return. And the reason for the intrusion in her room earlier.  Someone in the town must have recognised her and contacted Agnes, who'd obviously decided to fly back.  And Agnes had gone through her bag searching for information.

Why else would Agnes have returned?

Agnes Harlesden in her room, searching in her personal property. The thought made her chest tighten with anger. Years ago, she invented a secret name for Agnes.  The Ogre.  Huge and terrifying.  

As a child, she'd been scared of the Ogre who'd come across as a mixture of old-fashioned ballroom dancer and horse riding school instructor.  She'd tried to avoid the Ogre who'd made her feel unwelcomed from the start, and she'd always found the Ogre's icy silences humiliating. That's how the Ogre had punished pupils at the School.  By making them feel small and insignificant.

By banning laughter, she thought, bitterly.

Her false identity hadn't lasted long. She kept expecting Terence Harlesden or Brendon to confront her. But they didn't.  She'd already served them coffee and they'd thanked her but shown little interest in her.  

It was almost like they didn't know.  Didn't. Know.  Unless

Could the Ogre be keeping this to herself?  There was always lot of bad feeling between Agnes Harlesden and the rest of the family over who really owned Lyme House. Agnes might be using this knowledge to gain the upper hand.  

The more she thought about it, the more sense it made: The Ogre choosing to return Lyme House to deal with her, the so-called poor orphan child, while playing a game like chess with the rest of the Harlesden family and keeping everyone guessing.

That was so typical of the Ogre.

Plus, all the mystery about the fire ten years ago.

***

The fire that nearly killed her when she was seven.

It broke out in the early hours of the morning, spreading through the annexe flat where she and Mum and Dad lived. A babbling stream of fire, like a river. Spitting flames and fumes. Collapsing wood and smoke, thick and choking. Dad carried her out of the flat in the middle of the night, barely able to walk. Sobbed, I'm sorry, Lucy. I never meant for things to go this far. Sirens sounded in the distance and she woke up in hospital.

But there had been more.  Things that didn't made sense.  A figure in a balaclava close by, watching the flames. She dreamt terrible things just before the fire, a sickie feeling lodged deep in her stomach. Woke while the sun was still setting, aware of Mum standing by the bedroom door, face pinched with worry and concern.  Later on, she woke again, but this time Mum wasn't there. She never saw Mum again.  

She'd woken a third time. Maybe a fourth.  Fear, like ice trickling down her spine.  Sudden silence, pulsating with expectancy. Totally, totally alone.  Sick, sick, sick; she didnt want to be sick in bed. She curled up in bed, trembling. The flat alive with tension. Mum very, very angry at Dad.  

Dad and the other woman. Mum had found out about Dad's affair.

A blank  and then the fire. A man in the balaclava.  A man in the flat. Dad and a man talking outside the flat in hushed tones.  Dad peering in at her through the bedroom window after the sun went down, making her even more afraid than before.  

Dad's face, not a stranger's. Dad in a balaclava, watching her.  

No, not Dad.  A man.  A friend of Dad's.